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For the Paul I knew was still alive inside this tough new shell.

Probably the worst aspect of this for me was the fact that I no longer could count on any comfort whatsoever from Paul's body. His withdrawal from me was absolute, total, so that even on the few nights that he deigned to sleep with me in the apartment, he simply flopped himself into bed and rolled over to face the wall. Nothing I did could revive or encourage him in any way, when I touched him, I could feel his body turn to stone, a rigidity so complete as to be positively frightening. After a few nights of this, interspersed with those terrifying long absences, I even found myself wishing that he were the type of man who could simply objectify women, take advantage of them, use them for their bodies alone, and that he would coldly ravage me, impale me on the sword of his mysterious anger.

Never have I come so dangerously close to losing my integrity, the pride and confidence that have kept me alive and triumphant even in life and death situations. Never before had I been so willing to submit myself to a man and his needs, never been so desperate to have a man's interest and sexual reassurance. When I realized this, realized how close I had come to total surrender, some kind of alarm bell went off deep inside me, and I knew that I would have to take the bull by the horns.

Finally I confronted him. He had come home from one of his weeks away, had given me the same offhand 'hello' with the same unreadable expression that I had now become accustomed to, and had brushed past me to flop exhausted on to the couch. I wondered briefly, as I had wondered many times before, if Paul had simply found some new woman to keep him happy and was staying with me for reasons that neither of us could fathom. But as before, I again found that possibility unlikely, since absolutely none of the telltale signs of infidelity were there.

Still, I had reached the end of my rope. Something was going to get settled right then and there, or I would be on my way. I walked over to the couch and sat down next to him, feeling him stiffen as I did. But I was simply not going to be put off this time.

"Paul," I said, "let's stop this. Please tell me what's going on with you."

He turned to me with the face of an actor, as if he were trying to convince me that he was taken entirely by surprise by a bizarre and unreasonable question. "What are you talking about?" he said.

"Paul, don't do that to me," I said, honestly saddened by the childish weakness of his ploy." Don't hide that way, it makes me feel ridiculous."

He didn't answer, only turned his face to the wall once more.

For some reason it infuriated me this time. I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around to face me. The look of surprise on his face was so comical that I could hardly keep from laughing.

But I managed to control myself. "Look, Paul," I said firmly, "if you want to go on staying with me, you're going to have to put a little effort into it. You're going to have to do some communicating."

His face, that marvelous, eternal face, now seemed to melt before my eyes, and his expression changed from one of surprise to one of sheer terror. The fear I saw nearly took my breath away, and I wanted to reach out to him, to hold his face between my hands and comfort him. If only he'd let me....

"First," he said, "I'm going to tell you what I can. It might not be the explanation you want, but it's all I can do right now."

Then he stopped. I waited for a moment, and then said, "well?"

He took a breath. "I'm under contract," he said.

"To who?" I asked when he showed no signs of continuing. "For what?" this petty mystery was beginning to annoy me, and I could hardly keep the tone of irritation out of my voice.

"That's all I can say," he said. "Please don't ask me anything else." with that he turned on his heel and walked into the bedroom.

I could control myself no longer.

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